


Now and Then

by Transistance



Series: Each Disquieting Instance [3]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Canon Trans Character, Drinking, Gender Issues, Memories, Minor Violence, Nightmares, Other, Psychological Trauma, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Reapings, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-17 09:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5864599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Transistance/pseuds/Transistance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grell is having nightmares about Corrections, even so long after being reinstated, and William feels compelled to find out why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> William is still using male pronouns for Grell; I am sorry.
> 
> This isn't a very nice fic imo and was written because I needed an intermediate between the two previous ones and the next. I've been at it for far too long, which, conversely, means it's not as good as one that I could write in a short space of time.

_“You know why you're here, don't you, Mr Sutcliff?”_

_Grell frowned a little as though in concentration, squinted forward to convey absolute attention, and carefully removed minute particles of dirt from under her nails. To the speaker's credit, there was no sigh, no noise of aggravation; only another, sharper, “Sutcliff,” and then a hand in her hair wrenching her head up to lock eyes with the man who had come – or been sent? - to torment her._

_“_ Ah _\- Oh, you mean_ me _? I'm sorry, you said 'Mr', so naturally I assumed you were talking to someone else-”_

 _“Don't play games, Sutcliff!” The man was tall, taller than Will, taller even than the demon that she had playfully courted during the incidents that she was now being punished for, but as dark haired as either of them if more heavily built. His grip was crueller than William's fists and Sebastian's words, and he hauled her up to his face, so close that her nose almost brushed his. “_ Look _at me. You're a twisted, broken little man and you've finally gone far enough that that's a problem that needs to be rightened. You're being punished because you went rogue, you broke our laws – but you're_ here _because of what you_ are _. You don't need to be put down – you need to be fixed, because you're not right in the head and you are not fit to be a reaper and we are going to correct that about you or kill you trying, understand?”_

_Grell managed to push herself forward fast enough to bite his lips before he threw her against the wall, and the obscenities he shouted down her ears didn't ring as much as the silence did when he had gone._

* * *

“...Sutcliff. Sutcliff. Sutcliff!”

When it became clear that the man wouldn't wake to verbal harassment alone, William summoned his scythe and tapped Grell's head with it.

It was quite a sharp tap, and would likely leave Grell with a ringing headache for at least the next few hours, but it had the intended effect. His subordinate startled awake with an alarmed cry, jerking up in his seat in picturesque confusion.

“What - _Will!_ ”

“Yes,” William replied, dryly confirming the obvious. “Honestly, is there something wrong with you at the moment? You're usually at least a little more... awake than this.”

“I'm _exhausted_ , thank you very much,” Grell muttered, rather mutinously, and pouted up at his supervisor. “They haven't let up on me for weeks! Probation was bad enough – to subject me to this is beyond cruel! They don't trust me – they _know_ I've not been telling them everything; I don't know how, but they know – and I'm stuck on paperwork again. Would it be oh so difficult for you to arrange at lest a reap or two for me to stretch my poor, cramped legs?”

William waited until he was completely quiet before replying, feeling irritation build as familiarly as it always did when Grell spoke to him.

“Actually, that's exactly what I've come to tell you. You've got a reap scheduled in three days' time - it should be a quick job, but I assumed you'd be pleased anyway.”

He tossed the notification of said reap upon the area of desk not covered by Grell's straying hairs, and Grell eyed it with wariness before his face split into radiant incredulity. “I've got a partnered reap with _you_?”

“Yes. Apparently they trust me not to allow you to do anything rash.”

“But – Oh, darling, it's been _years_ since we've been together!”

Grell wrung his hands and beamed one of his brighter smiles to back up the exclamation, although to Will's relief he made no move to leap to his feet to attempt an embrace this time. “It hasn't been that long.”

“The times you've had to come out and fetch me back don't count.”

“Okay.”

Backing toward the door was what moved Grell to stand abruptly and throw himself forward to catch William's wrist. “Wait! Don't go just yet. Don't you want to ask me how I've been? Give me all the gorgeous little details of your own thrilling life? Tell me -”

“Get on with your work, Grell.” 

“Answer me one question and I will.”

William glared at him, inherently disapproving of bargaining but more swayed by the prospect of being allowed to leave in peace. “One question, that's it.”

The question that Grell chose was unexpected. “Did they find out how the android worked? How it could think – how it could have a soul?”

“It was sent to the mechanical side of Special Affairs; I've been told nothing further than that.”

Special Affairs was one of the Dispatch's lesser known departments – they served no real solid function in the workings of the reaper's system, and were staffed mostly by a few very specialized older shinigami and the handfuls of technical and medical juniors who had either dropped out or failed their intended areas of work. He had never visited it himself – having been neither a technical nor medical student or involved in any irregular goings on before Grell had dropped a dead android in his office – but its reputation was one of well-meaning experimentalism and quiet efficiency in whatever small problems they were tasked with, working behind the scenes to clean up after incidents like this. 

_Incidents like this._ It had been three weeks since he had had to report the beheaded mechanical effigy of himself to Upper Management, and the resulting investigation had been gruelling. Interview after interview of the same questions in different words, trying to find out what he knew, if he was lying, why the robot looked so like him.

And then, of course, they had turned the weight of their attentions to Grell.

Grell had known that it was coming, of course – and had actually managed to put together a defence that was more than half decent in face of the obscure allegations that were levelled at him. _Yes,_ he had been in possession of a humanoid AI, but _no_ , he hadn't known it had a soul until he had killed it. _Yes_ he had been aware that it would be viewed as illegal to take such a thing into his custody - _but who would ever in that situation_ not _take in such a specimen,_ he'd said, smirking – but _no_ , he hadn't known who had given it to him other than that she was a woman. She'd worn a hood and been ambiguously voiced, Grell had told the council, in a way that made it explicit that he had been focusing much more on the robot than whomever it belonged to. 

William had been surprised at how easily Grell's lies had clicked together in line and been swallowed by those questioning him. He himself had been present, of course, both as Grell's supervisor and as the party responsible for having 'found' the dead android, and had assured all present that Grell would not have had the time or skill – even if he certainly would have had the motivation – required to create such a being.

The soul was another matter. Grell had plead guilty to having kept it due to its incriminating nature; had he returned it to the library it would have been noticed and examined, and he might as well have owned up in the first place. But he claimed innocence of the knowledge that it had been one of the stolen souls at all; claimed that he had assumed that the android had managed to form its own spirit alongside its consciousness. And this had made the examiners amiable.

In the end they had only charged him with 'withholding evidence' – a very minor crime, whose impact was only increased a little by his previous transgressions. Had the Ripper incident not still been clear in people's minds as Grell's most potent act, he would almost certainly have got off scot free.

As it was, he got desk-dutied again, his flat was searched through twice, and he was placed under a high alert status which essentially meant nothing as the individual responsible for monitoring and reporting anything out of the ordinary was William, who knew that Grell wasn't going to try anything anyway. So now things were calm, and in spite of three disregarded complaints to Administration they had a reap together. Still, it couldn't be avoided.

“So you're not in the loop about what's going on?” Grell's surprised query dragged him back to the present, and he finally managed to shake his wrist free of the grip. “They haven't been telling you anything?”

“No. I'm only an administrator, Grell. I'm not involved in any of the political processes that I imagine are currently going on on high.”

Grell turned his head on its side, two fingers against his mouth. “You're not just saying that to get me off your tail about it?”

“Honestly.” He snorted and shook his head, beginning to wish that he'd set the invoice about the reap by pigeon, or a junior. “No. I shall inform you if I hear anything, unless I'm explicitly told not to or believe it irrelevant. To leave you in the dark when you have the most first hand information would be idiocy.”

“Oh, be still my beating heart!” The smaller man put the back of his hand to his forehead and mimed swooning, grinning at William through half-lidded eyes. “You really are thoughtful, my love. I do believe I would simply wither away without your _compassion_.”

“Don't fall asleep again, Grell.” The warning was light, but the way that Grell's eyes widened very slightly suggested that he had read into it more deeply than intended.

William left him to his work, and hoped he wouldn't dream.


	2. Chapter 2

_It was a few days before she was offered company again, and the man was different than before. Flaxen haired and slim, he nonetheless carried an air of haughty professionalism and looked down his glasses at her when he sat down, opposite her at the little table that stood small and isolated in the centre of the room._

_“No biting this time,” he said softly, stern, and Grell grinned at him as brightly as she could manage._

_“Oh, that little incident has spread its way across your office? For shame! What sort of colleagues do you have that kiss and tell so easily?”_

_The man quirked an eyebrow, and the slightest flicker across the edge of his expression suggested that he had withheld a smile to match her own. “I'm afraid you have mistaken me, Mr Sutcliff. We've met before.” He put one hand to his mouth, slowly, and dragged it across his lower lip._

_The puncture wounds were deep and angry crimson, four sharp circles in the flesh where she had bitten him. And then, with another quick movement of his hand, they were gone, leaving only white and unbroken skin._

_“Oh,” Grell said, and took the time to scrutinize him once again. He was_ different _, different in body and manner and tone of voice and expression than he had been before. But then again, was different not exactly what she had been when she'd had her little stint in the mortal world? She had been the opposite of herself, and clearly this officer of Corrections was as skilled in the art of artifice as she was. Whether the thought was off-putting or strangely companionable she couldn't quite discern. “I suppose I can expect the same treatment as last time, then.”_

_“Only if you refuse to comply. I do not enjoy hurting you, Mr Sutcliff – given the opportunity to do so, I will only talk, nothing more. I am a healer, not a torturer.”_

_She narrowed her eyes to appraise him for a moment before answering, gauging his character. He wanted to talk? That was definitely a game she could play._

_“Speak away, my_ dear _man. The strong and silent types are more my area, but I'm sure I could make an exep-”_

_“Desist your silly word games,” he said, waving her into silence with one hand. “I have no interest in your frankly atrocious acting. You must be truthful with me.”_

_“Hmm, but where's the fun in that? You must agree, surely, changing your own face as you do. Why, if I wasn't a woman of faith I might believe I was not speaking to an honest man at all.”_

_“You are not a_ woman _!” This seemed to be the man's breaking point, a weakness that Grell realized could almost certainly be exploited to a great extent. Unfortunately her train of thought was lost when he stood and hit her again._

_Grell spat blood and grinned at her tormentor._

_“Oh, hit me again! It gives me such a_ rush _.”_

_“You're pathetic,” the man sneered, sitting back down. “You think you can worm your way out of this through your manipulation of my actions, as if you're so very clever about it all, but you can't. I will keep you here as long as is necessary to do my job.”_

_“What exact job are you trying to achieve, pray tell? I don't feel I've really learned anything as of yet during our fair time together.”_

_“I will fix you,” he said, suddenly very calm. “Even though you don't yet realize that you're broken. You'll thank me when you're whole.”_

_“Of course I will.” She turned her head on its side and watched him from over the lenses of her glasses, and he shuffled his papers in what was obviously an effort to look unbothered by her. “Can I ask something, darling?”_

_“Refrain from calling me – or any other man – 'darling' and I may well answer.”_

_“But I don't have anything else to call you, sweetie. You've not given me a name.”_

_The man closed his eyes for a moment as though in pain or deep thought, then snapped them open and said, “Fine. You may address me as Mr Sneddon.”_

_“No first name? How terribly impersonal. No matter, no matter; it's a lovely name. Sounds like 'wedding', at a stretch.” A very long stretch, but it made Sneddon's lip curl in distaste, and that was a result._

_“My name is irrelevant. We're here to discuss you, Mr Sutcliff.”_

_“Discuss me? I thought you were here to fix me. I am, after all, terribly wrong. You know that, and you're the professional here, so you must be right, my_ dearest _Mr Sneddon.”_

_“Acknowledging that you are not well – accepting that – is the first step toward making you better. And then, to help you, I must discern the underlying reasons for your behaviour.”_

_“My behaviour? You've hardly met me. Surely you can't judge me like this.”_

_“You are a murderer, Mr Sutcliff. You killed people-”_

_“I killed_ humans _. Humans with no value to the world, who should have died anyway.” Her lip curled in an unconscious sneer that she tried to hide, but the flash in his eyes told her that he'd seen._

_“We were human too, once. Or had you forgotten that already?”_

_“So we're told. But really, where's the proof of it? I've a memory that could be falsified as easy as anything; I've never seen a human become one of us. I don't believe it for a minute.”_

_Sneddon scribbled something down, and Grell raised her eyebrows. “Going to have me stitched up for blasphemy, too, then? Is there a limit to the number of items I can be incriminated for?”_

_After a moment, Sneddon held up the paper without a word, and let her read it._

_'_ Pathological liar' _, it said, in a doctor's scrawl. That didn't bother her as much as the typed text of the document._

_“'Former Dispatch agent'?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“But this is only a suspension. I'll be back on the job as soon as we've finished this little coup de grâce.”_

_Sneddon smiled. “You'll be back on the job as soon as I deem you fit for work, Mr Sutcliff. Whether that'll be in a day or a century is up to you. However until then, the dirt on my gloves has more standing than you.”_

_Grell opened her mouth and tried to speak, but no sound managed to escape the stranglehold of the realization that, suddenly, she was utterly powerless._

__  
* * *

“Here's the papers, Will. All in order, although your standards may be higher than mine, I suppose.”

William acknowledged this with a “Hm,” - still trying to finish up the last dregs of his own work before clocking out, perhaps for once on time – and only then registered the unusual note in Grell's voice, and looked up.

Dark circles were beginning to form in spite of the makeup obscuring them under Grell's eyes, and he looked more haggard than William had seen him in several years. “Sutcliff?”

“Mhm?”

“Don't take this the wrong way, but...” He couldn't believe he was asking this. There was no way that Grell wouldn't take it the wrong way. “...Are you okay?”

Grell's eyes widened and then narrowed, and he took half a step backward and examined one hand before answering, slowly.

“Never thought _you_ 'd be one to ask. I... Well, I've been having nightmares,” he confessed, eyeing William as though expecting a rebuke.

William attempted to tell himself that the confines of Grell's mind had nothing to do with him, and that he was not obliged to help his subordinate with anything that occurred outside of hours, and that recommending a shrink would be more useful than actually talking this over. Unfortunately he failed, so it was with a sigh that he motioned Grell to take a chair. The red reaper beamed.

“What have you been having nightmares about?”

“Oh, nothing that you can _do_ anything about, sweet though it is for you to offer,” Grell gushed, suddenly cheerfully awake. “It's just... bad memories, you know? And as they're something I've got such a backlog to choose from, my brain kindly makes sure that it's a different stress every night.”

“What brought this on?” He didn't want to play psychologist, and absolutely didn't want to know the details of Grell's dreams whether good or bad, but it was affecting Grell's ability to work and was thus entirely his business.

The red reaper shrugged, unconcernedly. “Oh, I've no idea. They pop up from time to time – it's probably stress, you know, from having been toiling under the influence of having too much paperwork and too little fresh air. I'll be _overjoyed_ to be out and about on our little outing.”

“I'm sure you will be.” When was he not? The last time they had been scheduled a job together he had thrown himself upon him, and taken some effort to pry off. He sometimes had the feeling that Grell had been unprepared for such a distance to grow between them over the years, given how often they had been paired together as juniors, and that the professional detachment that disallowed him from spending any time at all in William's presence was one of the driving forces behind his obnoxious obsession.

But that had been a long time ago now, and Grell should have grown out of it and found somebody new to hang off. Such a simple thing as taking a reap together had no business bringing him such joy.

Grell smiled slightly, downcast eyes suggesting that the gesture was not aimed at William, and then said smoothly, “Well. I should leave you to your filing, I suppose – a lady must have her rest, and if you of all people are noticing the state I'm in I must look _dire_.” He gave a little laugh, stood, and moved to the door. But he paused upon reaching it, and holding it half open he glanced back.

“...Will?”

“Yes?”

“The dreams are about Corrections.” 

The door clicked closed before William had a chance to reply because Grell had jumped away instead of walking, leaving no window of opportunity for further conversation at all.


	3. Chapter 3

_  
On the third day he was Will._

_It was entirely unexpected, and for a moment the illusion fooled her. “...Will?”_

_“No.” The man pulled out his usual seat, sat, then shuffled the stack of papers he had brought in with him before meeting her eyes. “Just me again.”_

_“Why do you look like_ that _?”_

_“I thought it may elicit more honesty from you.”_

_“Why?”_

_Sneddon shrugged. “Patients tend to be more receptive to a familiar face – unless, of course, you're suggesting that your immediate reaction toward your superior is to lie?”_

_Grell matched the shrug, and managed to smile. “I prefer the term 'reword the truth'. Will wouldn't like me if I spoke my mind too often.”_

_“Oh?” A note was taken, and Sneddon adjusted his glasses – horribly like Will. Even his voice had become deceptively even, and she recognized that there was far to much truth in the hypothesis about honesty. “You believe he likes you as you are, then.”_

_“Yes.” That wasn't exactly true, but she'd be damned if she let that particular weakness show. “Yes, he does, even if he isn't the best at expressing it.”_

_William's face, carefully puppeteered by Sneddon, remained impassive, although he did sigh. “You have known William Spears for how long?”_

_“Surely you have that information on file.”_

_“This is an examination of you, not your records. How long have you known him, Grell?”_

_The use of her name almost slipped past, given how naturally it fell from those lips. “I- Longer than matters.”_

_“What is your opinion of him?”_

_“He's an old friend.” She shrugged, aiming to exude nonchalance, and then added, “We've shared some_ very _good times over the course of our relationship.”_

_“But he has never reciprocated your feelings?”_

_Grell stared at him, and opened her mouth as though she could answer that. “That- I- What does it matter to you?”_

_“Perhaps your digressions from morality are aims for his attention. Undivided, as it were.”_

_“You think I would- You think I did that for attention?” For the first time upon entering here she felt genuine anger beginning to build. “You think I went against every law, every ounce of common sense – you think I put myself at such risk – to catch the eye of a man?”_

_“Well, he did come chasing after you, didn't he?” Lacing his fingers together, Sneddon leaned over them and peered at Grell from Will's eyes. “And he visited you when you were in solitary confinement.”_

_“Once, yes. One time, because he felt the need to blow off steam about how incensed he was by what I had done and how much trouble I had caused him. I knew he would be – I knew I was harming him when I was out killing whores; I made the decision to put justice before him.”_

_“Justice?” Again Sneddon made a note. “Tell me about 'justice', then, Grell Sutcliff.”  
_

* * *

Curiosity was not an emotion that often accosted William. He was currently doing his utmost to quash it small enough that he could ignore it completely and get on with his paperwork, but it felt as though it were increasing exponentially with each moment he didn't act upon it.

He wanted to know what Corrections had done to Grell.

It was very easy to tell himself that this sudden desire for that particular knowledge was due to Grell's current fatigue, which in turn prevented the man from working at any decent standard, thus in turn again causing William more hassle. But he was aware that as compelling as this reason alone was, it wasn't the whole of the matter.

It wasn't that he cared much for Grell or felt that the punishment had been too harsh. If he were honest, it was more basial – and more nasty – than that.

Grell Sutcliff was one of his officers. Sneddon had _damaged_ him, in a way that had both humiliated and destabilized Grell, which was not his place to do. This was illogical because it was Sneddon's job to do exactly what he had done, but nonetheless it didn't sit right. Grell was William's subordinate; William was responsible for both the punishment and protection of his subordinate.

And he had failed both.

But Sneddon had touched something that was _his_ , in a way that had been blatantly disrespectful and openly baited, and the tiny, animalistic aspect of William's brain that still remembered the outlines of bar fights and seeping mortal resentment could not let that stand. He had never spoken to the man; the letters had stopped as soon as Grell had been removed from probation, and the two had never come into contact otherwise. Sneddon had been present at Grell's final hearing when William had not – he'd been out in the mortal realm, preparing to reap the troupe of circus performers – and William had been present at the more recent trial-investigations to do with the AI where Sneddon had not. His absence had been noted, as he had been scheduled to attend.

And now Grell was distracted, and Sneddon would know why, so William needed to talk to him. He adjusted his glasses once with one hand, stood, and strode out of his office.

It was not a particularly long walk. Corrections was on the left wing of the building that Collections sat centre in, one floor down, squashed between Administration and Special Affairs. The walls seemed to grow steadily whiter the further along this wing he went until eventually he reached the department's lobby and was greeted by a receptionist.

“Is your supervisor available?”

The woman – middle aged and blonde, he knew her but couldn't put a name to the face - looked up sharply, startled, and then relaxed as she apparently recognized him. “Almost gave me a heart attack, Mr Spears! By my superior, who exactly do you mean? There's several of them.”

“One Andreas Sneddon?”

“Oh!” She frowned at him, tapping her fingers on the desk before answering. “No, I'm afraid he isn't available at the moment.”

“Do you know when he will be?” He was presumably in a meeting - or possibly a hearing if a reaper was due to be reinstated from a probation – and so would likely not be long. Patience was not William's best virtue, but he could persevere through time if necessary.

“No,” said the receptionist. “I'm afraid he went AWOL, what...about a month ago, now. We've no idea when he'll be back – but we've an acting head of department, if you want to speak to him?”

It took a moment for the information to sink in, and then another to actually form a reply to it.

“...That may not be necessary. Do you have access to previous patients files?”

“Well, ye-e-es...” Her lips pursed together as she frowned again, evaluating him from behind her glasses. “I'm not sure that I'm meant to just be giving them away, though. Do you have clearance? Which records are you after, anyway?”

“Grell Sutcliff, and the other patient housed here at the same time as he was if possible. I'm Sutcliff's supervisor – you know that – does that count for anything, or must I acquire permission from Upper Management before asking?”

“Oh – no, that should be fine! I'll just go and – get them, shall I? You can't take them away with you, but you can read them here; won't take long I'm sure.”

She hurried off, and William pretended not to have noticed the flash of fear on her face when he had mentioned Upper Management. But of course Grell had told him – some time ago now – that their activities bordered on the wrong side of reaper law, and what he had seen was perhaps only the tip of an iceberg that had no place in any dispatch. 

Returning hastily clutching two folders, the receptionist slapped them down onto the desk and smiled in artificial happiness. “These are the files for Grell Sutcliff, and these are for Caroline Haw. She was discharged a week before Sutcliff. Anything else I can do to help, sir?”

“Could you tell me about Ms Haw? What was she sent to you for, what punishment she received, where she is now?”

“It's all in the file,” came the reply, and she tapped the papers to further articulate this. “I don't really remember the specifics – that's a while back now, isn't it? Why've you only come to check up on this now?”

“It is only just becoming a problem. Sutcliff is currently distracted from his work, and has suggested that it is due to what was done to him here.”

“' _Done to him_ '?” the receptionist echoed dubiously. “With all due respect, sir, we in Corrections _help_ people. If anything, Mr Sutcliff should be thanking us for giving him treatment. I remember seeing him when he was brought in – quite a mess! One wouldn't have recognize him as a reaper at all, let alone a Collections agent. He needed guidance, Mr Spears. He was a drastic case.”

“And what 'guidance' did you give, exactly?” Keeping his tone measured was easy, and to her credit the woman did not so much as falter.

“Same as we give everyone who comes in here – we would've isolated the root cause of the problem, and ensured that he knew why it was a problem and how to make it better. See, if you look here...” She flipped through the file, and pointed one painted nail at the words. “There you go. See, his problem was gender issues – that's not uncommon, actually – but because he was allowed to run rampant with them he convinced himself not only that he should be a woman, but that he _deserved_ to be a woman – and the physical impossibility of this drove him to murder. So the department gave him therapy... 'verbal and mental', it says here... to drive that down. He was instructed to remain in a more masculine form than what he frequents and talk though the issue with... Ah, Mr Sneddon was his rehabilitator. Which is why you asked to see him. Gee, he must have thought Sutcliff a tough case to have assigned himself to him.”

“Is that unusual?”

“It's not unheard of, but he usually just oversees the jobs instead of getting directly involved.”

William did not allow himself to express any opinion on this, instead taking the opportunity to flick through the files himself. As she had said, Grell was listed extensively for a range of problems pertaining to his perceived femininity, and there was more speculation as to what exactly this had brought about in the man's psyche than actual documentation as to what had gone on. The times and lengths of each solitary confinement and 'communicative session' were listed, and one or two had the barest bones of notes attached – ' _Sutcliff is not cooperating, further measures must be taken_ ', ' _Sutcliff refuses to listen to reason, too self-centred to be treated through conventional methods_ ' - but nothing more of each. 

The release dates both from the department and from probation were listed, as well as the implemented restrictions which William was familiar with. All in all, the file was not helpful at all.

Haw's, on the other hand, was interesting because it was unfamiliar. There was a photograph of the woman; short hair of an indeterminate blonde shade framed a hard, scowling face, one black eye blooming as her mouth twisted in clear disgust. It was quite contrasting to Grell's picture – fatigued and covered in blood, Grell had still somehow found the time to smile with bright predatory intensity - and the written words had even less favourable things to say about her than Grell.

_Haw is reckless and without thought for authority or her own safety,_ it grumbled. _A deep-set hatred of the male superiority in society has led her to become a bitter and remorseless renegade, willing to go to great lengths to destabilize those around her. It is unclear whether she will heed any words said to her, so alternate treatment is recommended._

Solitary confinement was prescribed twice as often to Haw as it had been Grell, and 'pathos' sessions were started and then stopped abruptly after a week, with a note saying _Haw is apparently incapable of empathy; procedure infeasible._ She was eventually listed as being discharged back into her previous line of work with no restrictions, but in way of explanation a tagline said _Further observation or handicaps unnecessary; ability to follow illegalities through removed._

“What does this mean?” he asked, knowing full well what it meant. “'Ability to follow illegalities through removed.'”

“Oh, that just means that they reckon she's cured,” replied the receptionist unconcernedly. “Like, the treatments worked well enough that there's no chance she'll go off the wall again.”

“So you don't know the exact methods taken to achieve that?”

“No.” She narrowed her eyes, and then asked shrewdly, “...Why, what are you suggesting they did?”

“I was told that they cut out her warp core.”

“What?!” The receptionist looked horrified, and quite suddenly stood. “No, of course they wouldn't do that!? That's illegal, that's vile – that's exactly the sort of thing we _stop_ people from doing! God, that's sick – who told you that?”

“Someone in the department,” he replied tonelessly, and then let the file fall shut. “That will be all; thank you.”

“You're leaving just like that?” Blinking, the woman watched him retreat. “I hope you found what you were looking for – but don't go spreading lies about this department, you hear? We're good people! We help!”

William let her calls fall unanswered as he saw himself out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unrelated to the story, but I don't suppose anyone knows how to recover documents on Open Office? My computer lost power (my fault entirely) on Monday and the file I had open has converted itself into 22 pages of hashtags (literally just "###########") instead of the ~45,000 words of personal writing that I had. Internet searching has found no relief and I can find no obvious way of repairing the damage. As it was ~a good 6 months' (maybe more?) work, I wouldbe very grateful if anyone has ideas on how to recover it :/


	4. Chapter 4

_  
Grell listened to the screaming from the next cell along and tried not to let it bother her. It was a scare tactic, nothing more – there was no way that the woman could be anywhere near as injured as her cries made her out to be. If she was, she'd be too close to death for them to risk it._

_Sneddon was later to visit her than usual; he strolled in fixing his cuffs, apparently having settled on wearing William's form. There was a shortness to his movements that Grell hadn't seen before; some half-boiled violence lurking under his fluid skin._

_Jerking a chair out, Sneddon sat and steepled his fingers together, watching her in silence until Grell felt that_ someone _had to speak._

_“What did you do to her?”_

_“Take a guess.”_

_“Torture, torment, terror? Any combination or variation thereof?”_

_“Oh – all three, at the very least. We're running a little experiment, you see.”_

_“On her?”_

_“Indeed. Or – in her, perhaps you should say. Reapers have some very bizarre quirks of physiology, you know; it is convenient to combine interests with some of our more medically-minded staff when we have reapers here who have done something that needs punished. You are familiar with the concept of a warp core, Mr Sutcliff?”_

_“Yes, but-” She realized what he meant, and broke off. “You didn't. You couldn't have.”_

_Sneddon didn't answer, but paused to allow them both to take the time to listen to the woman's screams. The noise was familiar; Grell had heard it before more than once on the mortal streets, from the throats of people who knew nothing but the terror and agony of an inevitable death._

_He had cut out the part of that reaper which made her inhuman – the part of her that sustained her prolonged afterlife – because she had dared to attempt to do something new._

_If he saw her shiver or the distress that passed her face he gave no reaction, but smiled slightly. The action caused Grell's guts to clench, sudden anger overtaking her – but any boldness that could have sprung from it was quelled by her fear. If that were the retribution for such a small crime – what would he do to her?_

_“...Why do you do this?” she managed, trying not to let her voice betray her. She succeeded, just._

_“Because you – people like you – must be fixed, Mr Sutcliff. You are a danger to our society. You know that. But why me, personally? Well – you disgust me.”_

_“Oh, really? I'd never have guessed. And here was me thinking we were getting along so well.”_

_Sneddon laughed, forcing Grell to wonder how he could appreciate her humour whilst finding her so repellent. “And – oh, yes. You. I almost forgot, all caught up in...” he waved one hand carelessly,indicating something outwith the room - “I'm afraid we have something different for you today, Mr Sutcliff.”_

_Training her face into careful non-comment, Grell said, “...Oh? How exciting. You know I do so love... surprises.”_

_He stood, and she watched with more than a little wariness as he approached her, startling a little when his hand touched her cheek._

_“What are you doing?”_

_“You have failed to heed a single word I have said,” he said, an odd detachment settling over him. “And so I've decided that the only was we can progress is to show you what you are.”_

_“And w- hey!”_

_The hand on her flesh pushed against her, and she felt her skin mould under its contact._

_He was changing her._

__

* * *

William didn't bother to knock, knowing that Grell rarely (if ever) appreciated the gesture. His office room was the same turgid mess as usual, and the man himself more than contributed to that; red hair rampant and spread almost artistically across the desk, his face, his paperwork and the back of the chair he sat in. It resembled a cobweb or a very gruesome accident, and obscured Grell's sight toward the door, so William cleared his throat.

Grell startled, looked up from the paperwork and quirked an eyebrow upon registering who it was. “You're early, my darling. Wanted to spend as much time with me as possible, hm?”

“I merely wanted to ensure that you would be on time for the reap.” He didn't bother to reply to the usual fond name – repeatedly assuring Grell otherwise had never changed the man's mind – and instead cast his eyes over Grell's paperwork, which had been doodled over. “I see I needn't have bothered.”

“I've been working _very_ hard,” Grell informed him, lying through his teeth nonchalantly enough that the comment might have been intended as a very low form of satire. “Although I do so hate these afternoon reaps – give me night any day; blood under a bright moon, the beauty of cold air across a corpse – or dusk, a thick grey cloak falling around the day's scapegoat, so dim that you'd hardly see the body until its flesh is under your boot – or _dawn_ , dew glistening fresh like tears on the face even as the first rays of sunlight catch the sightless eyes of the fallen! Anything but afternoons.”

It was difficult not to let distaste for his colleague's sense of decency – or lack thereof – show, but William managed. “Come on,” he said shortly. “We're cutting it close as it is.”

“Only because you stopped to chat away to me,” Grell hummed, jumping away before any further reply could be had. William took the time to roll his eyes at the empty air, and followed.

Their targets were three men and a woman, due to die in a warehouse explosion. It was nothing out of the ordinary; should be complete within less than an hour, if all went smoothly. There was no stated reason as to why on earth two senior officers were needed to carry it out – one, or a pair of juniors would be able to manage without difficulty – but William knew that there was to be a general steer-clear of allowing Grell full freedom so soon after the escapade with the android. It was not Grell's fault, not at all, but that he hadn't reported the being as soon as it had been handed to him played hell with Upper Management's inclination to trust him.

And William's ability to keep his distance.

Mortal London was as grey and dreary as ever when he arrived, and Grell stood waiting for him before the factory. One end was leaking thin coils of smoke already - and as they watched, a lick of fire caught at a window, and then the walls blew out.

Grell let out an audible sigh of something verging on bliss, and then he said, “I have missed this.”

Ignoring the comment, William moved forward towards the site of the accident. Most of the remaining end of the building appeared to have caught fire, now - but that wasn't a problem. There were four souls to be collected. “Take the woman and the man closest, Grell.”

“With _pleasure_ , my love.”

It had been months since William had had to do any serious fieldwork, but the motions came to him as easily as they had when he had been mortal-side every day; the physical act of reaping was not easily forgotten. The hellish roar of Grell's illegal scythe was not easily bypassed either, and it was all he could do not to snap at his subordinate about it. Awful, garish method of reaping; completely without discretion or respect, even if it was the fastest scythe on record and could cleave a demon in two without its owner batting an eyelash. He would have to see if he could persuade Grell to attach a muffler to it at some point it the future.

William stabbed his own scythe through each corpse in turn, ignoring the horrific charring of their flesh in favour of the bright reels of their pasts. Neither struggled much; victims of such accidents rarely did. They were too shocked.

He tried not to hear Grell's verbal commentary of his two charges' lives behind him in favour of focusing on the records of the two here – it was always a little frowned upon to reap two at once due to the belief that they couldn't be paid full attention if split like that, but it halved the time and a truly remarkable soul would stand out enough that more than half attention wouldn't be needed to mark it as special.

He finished before Grell, of course; Grell always took the time to watch records through as fully as possible, even when proclaiming them “ _disgustingly dull, darling_ ”. It was, perhaps, an admirable trait. Most reapers tended to cut corners as often as possible; in the end, it wouldn't matter. But Grell was curious, and took all he could from souls that he collected.

The rapt attention in Grell's eyes, for once so entirely focused on his task, almost made the reap worth it. William had forgotten the look, given how long it had been since they had done fieldwork together – it seemed the only time that Grell was fully focused on something worldly, and not half-bogged down within his own sordid imagination. He was glad that this hadn't been lost.

There was no sound but the shallow shutter clicking of the reels and the low crackling of the not-distant-enough fire whose light bathed Grell orange and warm, his hair more flame-like now than ever. Perhaps, for a moment, there was peace.

And then the job was done and Grell looked up at him, puppy-eyed, the expression causing William to scowl. Then it slipped into the more familiar doting predatory grin, but instead of any flirtation Grell asked, “Do you have any more paperwork to be doing?”

“No. I intend to go home.” He pushed his glasses up and met Grell's eyes in a challenge, but the hint wasn't taken.

“Darling, don't be dour. Come out for a drink first, hm?”

“What, with you? Honestly. I can think of nothing worse.”

“It'll be a nice change for you. A chance to wind down.”

The easy gold sunlight of the afternoon pervaded London's smog, brushing the street bright and framing the fact that if he took up Grell's offer there was two very clear possibilities; either he could escape early and still have an evening to himself, or he could end up staying for _hours_.

“How much paperwork do _you_ still have to do?”

“Me? Oh, very little. None at all, really. Won't take five minutes to complete.” 

It appeared to be only half a lie, and Sutcliff had been behaving himself slightly better than usual over the course of the day. And there was the matter of his dreams – whilst the last thing that William wanted to do was delve anywhere within the man's mind, it would perhaps be prudent to see if that particular minor problem could be stopped before it grew.

“...So long as you give your word that you will have that work complete on time.”

“Oh, _William_!” Grell's face split into an incredible grin, and he slapped one hand over his heart. “Every word you need from me, you have.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the nastiest chapter by a fair shot, apologies

_“How's this?” he breathed, voice warm against her neck. “Is this you?”_

_“No.” Dark hair did not suit her, especially not worn that loosely, but that wasn't what he was asking. The face was long and mournful, almost like her butler guise but more tired, less unkempt – and as unfamiliar as the last dozen faces he had crafted from her own, day after day. She had no idea what he was trying to do, other than perhaps make her lose her mind through loss of self. Did he think that she would forget what her reflection was supposed to look like, or the memory of the colour red? Even with everything awash in grey, they had taken nothing of her mind._

_“This isn't working, then,” Sneddon replied softly – although could equally have been talking to himself. “We shall just have to try something new to help you, shan't we?”_

_“Something – new?”_ Thank goodness _was Grell's first thought, before she almost immediately decided that in the grand scheme of things having her face moulded wasn't all that bad. “But you're making such good progress handling me like this. I know now exactly what styles to avoid next time I go for a hair cut.”_

_There was silence for a moment, something considering in Sneddon's eyes, and then he said abruptly, “Of course. You're so deep in your own delusions that it doesn't make a difference what you look like, does it? You believe yourself a woman in spite of your real male body – a different face couldn't change that. I've been wasting time.”_

_Grell tried to smile. “Never say that! We've been bonding. I can't imagine that such a deep emotional connection as ours could have sprung from anything else! I can't remember the last time a man spent so much time just touching me. It's-”_

_“Shut up,” Sneddon snapped, and suddenly his hand was across her mouth. The residual energy it held made it clammy and uncomfortable, and it half-warped the shape of her lips before he took it away and wiped it off on his own shirt. “If changing your face does nothing to you – well, other aspects of yourself may have more effect._

_The realization of what he was about to do hit her hard, and she tried to stand. “You can't- The amount of skill that would take-”_

_“I'm not going to do it properly,” he snapped. “In this instance I don't believe any finesse is required at all. Don't misbehave, now.”_

_For a moment she considered lashing out – even in such ill health, even without her scythe, she could still hurt him. Even though he was larger than her and her head felt fuzzy and sore from all the warping of her self; even though she could barely see him. She could hurt him, if she wanted to._

_And then she would be kept here forever._

_Grell sat back down, hating herself a little and her captor a good deal more, and Sneddon sneered at her as she half spread her legs, a clear gesture of submission._

_“You will not enjoy this, Mr Sutcliff.”_

_“You're not the first man to have said that to me.”_

_To her surprise the comment made him stop, for a moment. “...I am sorry to hear that,” Sneddon told her with terrible sincerity, and then leaned leaned too far into her personal space and put his hand too far up her thigh._ Changes can't be applied through clothes _, she thought, and was proven wrong._

_She moaned at the touch in an attempt to provoke a reaction from him, his hand horrifically unpleasant as she felt it morphing her, cold clamminess sinking through her in place of any pleasurable reaction. “Ah – ohh,_ yes, keep doing that, you filthy man, yes _, oh god-”_

_She'd caught the twisting disgust on his face and decided that the best answer to it would be to move her hips up against his hand, which caused her breathy falsehoods to be cut off cleanly by one very real yelp as he suddenly clenched his fist._

_The flesh of her most intimate area_ bubbled _in that particularly awful way caused by too much change being applied too fast, and it hurt, god oh god did that_ hurt _._

_Biting down on her lip allowed her to only whimper when she could have screamed, and the taste of her own blood distracted her a little from the blind pain surrounding her crotch, and Sneddon snarled, “But this is what you want, isn't it? You think you'd be better if you weren't what you are, if you didn't have the parts that make you so explicitly a man, because you're stupid and can't see what's right in front of your face. If you want to be something you are not, you will only suffer for it!”_

_“Please – please- stop, stop, please stop-”_

_At last he pulled away, something akin to triumph on his face. “You see,” he said, even though she didn't. Grell didn't hear what he said next – she was too concerned with the pain, and more importantly trying desperately not to look as though it had affected her. There were tears in her eyes, but in the low lighting he wouldn't see them, and crossing her legs very securely, although uncomfortable, alleviated her instinctive fear. He had reduced her to an almost animalistic state, she realised, with this one relatively small act of cruelty. Given time it would fade – an hour, maybe two – and she would be fine. But for now she ached and flinched and wanted not to be seen, not to let him catch the weakness that he had installed in her._

_The man spat at her foot, stood, and walked out._

_Grell was left alone._

_She did not manage to stand but tipped herself from the chair and crawled to the corner of the room, where she curled up tight against the wall and put her arms over her face and tried desperately to pretend that she were anywhere else._

__

* * *

The pub was dark and warm and alive, and the familiarity of being in Grell's unwanted company in such a place was almost comforting. There was never as much tension in either of them as existed in the office – although perhaps that had something to do with the alcohol; William's tolerance was not high and Grell tended to act exactly as per usual until he hit a tipping point which never seemed to be at quite the same time. The red reaper was currently relatively quiet but giving altogether too much side-eye, so William decided to cut to the chase.

“I went to the department of Collections the other day, to ask about that woman-”

“You did _what_?” All content vanished from Grell, his expression mirroring the tone of his exclamation. “Did you mention me to them? Did you tell them that I'd told you all that stuff when I was on probation?!”

“No. I told them that I'm your supervisor, but nothing more than that. I wanted to access the files – yours and that of the woman you spoke of -”

“He'll know it was me, then! Sneddon will-”

“Grell – _Grell!_ – calm down. He wasn't there. The secretary I spoke to said that he hadn't been in the office in a month.”

“Where was he?”

“I don't know. She claimed he'd gone AWOL.”

“AWOL? They don't know where he is??” Grell's voice pitched sharply, his face contorting into a mask of horror. “Then – he could be anywhere! He could be you – for all you know he could be me!”

“What are you talking about?”

“You don't-?” He paused, bit his lip and frowned. “He changes, Will. Like I can, but – better. He could mimic – you, he could mimic a perfect stranger, he could be anyone. Are you not supposed to know things like that?”

“It's none of my business what another department head is good at.” Nonetheless, that didn't bode well. Reapers who could change even half as well as Grell were rare – so few had the perseverance to stick to a skill so irrelevant to their work – and if he were honest with himself the idea did not sit comfortably. A man who could pretend to be anyone could get away with almost anything, if he put his mind to it, and from what he knew of Sneddon the man's mind would be on something unsavoury. Perhaps Grell was right in that his absence was a source for concern. “...His secretary didn't seem unduly worried.”

“There you go!” Grell's voice dropped to a hiss, clearly fearing being overheard by whatever phantom menace suddenly had been revived from his memories of that department – or that man. “She must know where he is; I'll bet he's out doing – doing – something _ille_ gal, no doubt. Don't you think?”

“I would rather not cast aspersions. Perhaps the stress got to him and he took an unpaid holiday.” _Or perhaps he deserted_ , William thought suddenly. That was always a possibility, and the most common cause of unexplained absences. That would almost be a more worrying development than a simple unethical scheme run from within his walls.

Withdrawing his attention from those thoughts allowed him to do his best to focus on Grell, and what he found worried him. Grell looked scared – he was trying to hide it, but it was in the wideness of his eyes, the slight twitch in his fingers. It was uncharacteristic and recognizable.

“What did he do to you?”

“Nothing much. Really, nothing much at all. He just talked to me, played with my form a bit.”

“He touched you?”

“Oh, _yes_. Thoroughly.” Grinning, Grell raised his eyebrows high enough to accidentally showcase the blank, careful lack of emotion in his eyes. “I do believe he knew me better than I did by the time that we had finished.”

William felt his stomach turn, and shoved his glasses up his face. “There are very strict regulations against that – indecency in punishments is not-”

“No.” Grell laughed, the expulsion horribly bitter, and said, “No, Will. There was nothing _sexual_ about what he did to me there. I could've enjoyed it if there was. He just... tried to hurt me, that's all. It's not as though _that_ 's anything novel.”

The accusation behind the words was obvious, and the other reaper's grin was full of fangs. “As though you have never lifted a finger to harm another,” William snapped, and the smile dropped away immediately.


	6. Chapter 6

_“Is this you?” he repeated, almost a mantra now, except that when she opened her eyes all words were knocked from her._

_The pale woman in the mirror was beautiful, ringed eyes wide and shocked in the frame of curled hair. Her lips were slightly too full – mirroring her bust – and her shoulders were as delicate as her features._

_Grell looked from her tormentor to the mirror and back again, watching the stranger in the glass replicate her confusion and double it until eventually she found breath enough to whisper, “...No.”_

_An ugly grimace crossed Sneddon's face, so she smiled at him through the borrowed lips. “You think I'd be blonde? Oh, darling, it seems you don't know me all as well as you think.”_

_“I would have thought that something like you wouldn't find the grounds to complain over an aspect so trivial as hair colour.”_

_“You don't know me very well at all, then. I can find grounds to complain over anything – you name it, I'll moan about it. Of course, not everything I moan for displeases me.” She paused to laugh, a high trill that visibly made Sneddon's eye twitch, and spread her hands. “It's an impressive ability, to make a woman look more a woman than anyone else will ever see her as – but I fail to see how its relevant, unless you're just showing off now. Are you trying to impress me, love?”_

_“Nothing of the sort – I am merely trying to prove to you a point. Perhaps you really do see nothing but your own vanity staring back at you from that mirror. But you've never been able to do this, have you? You, Mr Grell Sutcliff, who wants so very badly to be that which he isn't – you've never been able to change your body to match your own preference. What does that say about you, I wonder?”_

_“Surely that I'm not quite so skilled at artifice as you, my darling, and need more practice.”_

_“No. Any idiot can learn to bend reality, to change appearance – it's practically a party trick! But the knack to it – you know this – is to believe your own illusion. You must truly be able to see yourself as a woman. And you cannot.”_

_“I've never tried.” This was the truth; Grell had never had any desire to make changes to herself other than to deceive people. What would be the point in sculpting herself a body that would have to be constantly monitored for slips, that would slow her down on the job, that would disintegrate if she tried to sleep with someone? The thought had occurred that she could, of course, but rational had always outweighed the temptation._

_“Ha,” was all Sneddon said. He stood, brushed non-existent dirt from the front of his suit, and then added, “Well, I must be going. I'll leave you to yourself, Mr Sutcliff.”_

_He strategically left the mirror to her as well, and she rolled her eyes at his exiting back. And then, against all good thought, Grell watched her reflection pout back at her and began to comb the curls out of her hair, and tried to match its shade to something that could be red.  
_

* * *

“I killed him,” Grell breathed some time later, eyes downcast and forlorn, and William could smell the alcohol on at least one of their breaths. “He was – I don't care what he was made of, Will, he was alive. As alive as we are. Maybe more so, you know? So I just... I just... Does it make me a murderer, what I did to him?”

“You were already a murderer,” grunted William, and pushed him away. “Have been for ages. Why does this particular travesty bother you any more than every other death you've caused?”

Grell's eyes dropped to the floor, frowning, and he spread his arms. “I don't know. It's silly. I mean, the others, they were humans – they would have died anyway. But he – he looked like you.”

“And so your infatuation cripples all logical thought, again. Honestly, Grell... _honestly_.” He shook his head, already feeling the effects of the drink, and snorted. “Bloody waste of a good mind, you are. If you weren't always so caught up in emotion you'd be a spectacle reaper.”

“I'm a spectacled reaper,” Grell refuted, now grinning lopsidedly. “I think you meant spectacular – which I am, now, hardheart or no. Are you telling me that had you cut him down you wouldn't feel any shade of guilt, wouldn't wonder at all whether you could have done something more?”

“It was a robot, Sutcliff. Even with a soul, all sentience was programmed into it. Whilst maybe it believed itself alive – and you did too – it wasn't. Can't kill a machine.” He nodded to substantiate this, and ordered another drink. _God knows I need it, having to listen through this guilt-driven pity party._

“But what if were the same way? We've souls, but our bodies are all fabricated by- by- by something high up; what if all thought we express only exists to allow us to do our jobs? Where's the line between their created life and ours?”

“You're drunk, Grell.”

“So're you! And I don't see what you have to point it out for; you've given me no grounds for the argument.”

William paused, and attempted to straighten the facts in his mind. “The thing is,” he started. “We have our original souls, reapers – even though our bodies are new, our souls are our own, memory or not. His soul was someone's first. It was transplanted into him along with the edited record. So you could not kill the soul of the android, because it wasn't his – you merely killed some dead mortal again, whether he was aware of that or not. And anyway – he asked you to kill him. That should justify it even if nothing else can. It would not be kind to deny death to one who requests it.”

Grell blinked at him, green eyes wide and shining with what William could only assume was tears. “Yes,” he said softly, as though the words had moved him. “Yes, you would say that.” The subject was dropped as Grell half raised his hand, clearly about to attempt to order another drink, but William caught his wrist and pulled it down. It was, perhaps, an unwise gesture – but instead of seizing upon it as some suggestion of attraction, Grell gave a little yelp and drew back, tearing his hand free.

“...It's getting late.”

“You just-! Why did you do that?”

“Why did I do what?” It wasn't as though this was the first time that he had manhandled Grell, and usually complaint was the opposite of the reaction. But it seemed now to have sent him into a panic – he had drawn right back, and seemed suddenly to be having trouble drawing forth words.

“What's – what – during our final exam, after we'd reaped the soul, what did I say to you?”

The question caught William off guard, and he frowned. It may have been an important night for them both, but a hundred years' worth of memories since then had dulled his recollections of exact speech. Surely Grell knew that? “I don't- Wait. It was 'Look after your glasses', or something along those lines. Because mine were knocked off, and you couldn't help but be a smug bastard about it. Why are you asking that?”

Abrupt relief washed his face, but then it fell into something approaching consternation. “I'm being _paranoid_ ,” muttered Grell, with disquieting fervour. “I'm being stupid and paranoid and silly – sorry. You just... took me by surprise.”

“I-?” The inebriation was making William slow, but he did eventually realize what the problem had been. “You mistook me for... someone else, there, did you?”

“Only for a moment. Silly thing, stupid thing to do – I know you, my man. My absolutely beautiful long-time lover. Don't look at me like that; we are! You're not him. Even in your body, he was never as attractive as you.”

“He was torturing you whilst masquerading as me?”

Grell's face registered the guilty shock of someone who had just blurted a secret, and he put one hand up to his mouth in a resolutely feminine gesture and refused to answer any further questions on the topic.


	7. Chapter 7

_  
“Let me see you change.”_

_Tipping her head, Grell pursed her lips at him. She was tired – but the suggestion that Sneddon would not be accosting her was almost too good to be true. “You want me to change form?”_

_“Yes.”_

_She eyed him, full of mistrust, but what else could she do? To do this to herself was nothing, even under duress. So her hands moved, the pattern of this particular artistry as familiar as the walls of the cell she stood in, painting herself back into the shaky lines of the drab persona she had become for her last mistress. It didn't take much time, and when she looked up Sneddon's expression was carefully blank._

_“This is the form you committed the Ripper incidents in?”_

_“Y-Yes.” Sir, she almost added, but caught herself in time._

_Sneddon nodded. “Who is it based on?”_

_“I... I can't remember. I just made it up. It's not based on anything!”_

_“How long can you hold it for? You must have been out there for some time, surely.”_

_“I – I don't know. I haven't tried to hold it – indefinitely. But – days, certainly. Probably, ah, weeks.”_

_“Hm.” He nodded again, more slowly, and then said, “Well, Mr Sutcliff... I think it may be time for you to return to your duties as an officer. Not reaping, of course, not yet – but certainly we can't keep you holed up in here much longer.”_

_“R-r-really, sir? But you've not, ah, done anything...” Grell attempted to bite out her own tongue, restraining herself only enough not to slap her hands over her mouth in recognition of how utterly stupid the words were. “W-what I mean to say, ah, is, um – I don't, well, understand...”_

_Stop talking, she told herself. Shut up now._

_Sneddon smiled at her. “Understanding is not your responsibility, Mr Sutcliff, don't you worry. My professional judgement is rarely wrong – I believe, even if you don't on any surface level, that you have benefited greatly from this.”_

_“I-i-if you say so, sir.”_

_“I do. You will have to pass your probation period without incident, of course, and a trial – if I may give a friendly suggestion? Tone yourself down, Mr Sutcliff. Your usual self is a disgrace to your office – you know that as well as I – and I think you would be rather more_ suitable _if you were to remain like this for a time. During work hours, certainly. What do you think your colleagues – well, they'll be superiors now, won't they? - what do you think they shall think of you like this?”_

_“No worse, ah, I m-mean, they'll think much the same of me as they always do, sir. Think it's just... j-j-just another little act! I am, after all, an actress!” Her voice cracked._

_“An actor, certainly. Look, Mr Sutcliff – Grell. You have been one of our better subjects, and I'll admit I'll be sad to see you go. But, nonetheless – I can't very well keep you here just to sate my own curiosity, now, can I? Give me ten minutes to clear the paperwork and then you can return to your end of the office.”_

_Grell stared at him, opened her mouth and almost gaped at him. “Really, sir? Just like that? Ah, I mean, will they not – well – not be expecting me?”_

_“The date has been set for some time now; did I forget to mention that to you? My mistake. I was a little worried that I wouldn't have time to conclude my examination of you – but I have all I need.” He stood, gave a small half-nod in her direction and then left her to her thoughts._

_She would be free._

_So suddenly, so out of the blue, her time here was over. She would not spend another day staring at these grubby walls, or caught on the uncomfortable chair, or being touched and probed and analysed. She would get to sit in her office again, with her colleagues again – she would be able to poke fun at her junior, and flirt with Will, and everything would be as it had been._

_Except that for a time she would be wearing this ridiculous butler skin._

_Before she had time to consider that slight fully Sneddon had returned, clutching rather too much paperwork for Grell's liking, especially as it was handed over to her.“Here are your documents, and a letter to your supervisor – you wouldn't mind delivering it, would you? - and some pens. It wouldn't do for you to turn up empty-handed, after all. You will not be able to access your secondary plane until your restrictions are lifted.”_

_“T-that's okay, sir, I'm sure I'll be able to – make do!”_

_“You had better.” He nodded, a shallow gesture, and held the room's door open for her until she had passed into the corridor. The bright white lights hurt her head, but she knew the way out – and suddenly freedom was well within her grasp, and she would never have to meet Sneddon again._

_“Well!” she said gaily, and felt the slide of her form around her face as she broke character. “I don't suppose I'll be seeing you again, then, my good sir? Alas, fate is so cruel that we must be parted so – I_ have _had fun spending time with you, don't you know? Still. All good times must reach their conclusion.”_

_Sneddon laughed. “No, I am certain that you shall not see me again, Mr Sutcliff. I, on the other hand...” He tapped his nose, and she saw it bend and change under the pressure. “Well. We shall see if I shan't be seeing you.”_

_Grell managed to turn on her flat heel before he could catch the expression on her face.  
_

* * *

“Why are you still so afraid of him? Even now, when there's no threat. I don't remember the last time I saw you scared.”

“I just worry, you know? That I'll slip up somehow, or say something that someone takes a disliking to, or look at someone in the wrong way, and that they'll seize upon it and cart me off there again, to-”

“You are _my_ subordinate,” William said, cutting him off far too forcefully. “He holds _no_ jurisdiction over you now. So long as you work as you have done since the Ripper incident and there are no more mishaps, no more stupid mistakes like that – he cannot touch you, Grell. Look. _You_ have _my_ word – you will never return to Corrections.”

Grell blinked at him, bleary surprise in his eyes, and then his face lit up into joy. “Passion at last! Oh, my heart's _racing_ , Will! Are you repenting for your decision to send me there in the first place?”

“Had I known then what I know now, yes.”

Grell went quiet, turned his head a little as though confused, and then changed the subject. “When was the last time we had drinks together? I can't remember. It's been some time, hasn't it?”

William attempted to cast his mind back, glad of the divergence, and realized that he was right. Not since the New Year's party that Grell had been on probation for, and that didn't count because he had been sober. “Yes.”

“We should do this more often!” As always when upon seizing a new idea Grell became suddenly animated, waving his hands excitedly. “It's good supervisor-subordinate bonding time; you could make it official! It's the sort of thing that Upper Management turn a blind eye to so long as they aren't losing money or work out of it.”

William shook his head, equal parts amused and annoyed by the suggestion. “As if every member of the council wouldn't assume I were doing it to get in your bed.”

Something glinted in Grell's eye, but he only smirked wide and said, “ _Darling_ , everyone on the council knows that if you wanted me in any form of compromising position you wouldn't have to drink me under the table to get me there.”

The words were uncomfortable – not in delivery, but certainly in content – and William attempted to down half of his beer before forming any answer.

“Your feelings for me, Grell,” he said slowly, “are unhealthy.”

“Unhealthy?” Grell's face dropped almost instantly into offence and hurt, and he snapped, “ _My_ feelings are not the unhealthy ones here! It has never hurt anyone to feel love – but you! You bury all feelings - _every_ emotion – suppress it and beat it down as though you feel nothing at all! Nothing I feel can be as harmful as that.”

“It's professionalism, Sutcliff, nothing more.”

“Don't you ' _Sutcliff_ ' me! I've known you almost your whole afterlife – and you have never let your hair down once, not even in situations like this. It's impressive! But it must be hurting you.”

“The only thing hurting here is my reputation due to spending time in seedy pubs like this with you.” He could feel his temper chaffing, and decided that it was high time for another attempt to abort Grell's feelings for him. They inevitably failed, but they would wear Grell down eventually, surely. “If you must have these frivolous affairs with people, go ahead – but I want no part in them, and never have. You are wasting your time with me.”

“Ha.” Grell put two fingers to his lips and raised his eyebrows, taking time to sip his own drink in an apparent mimicry of William. “It's an _investment_ , my love. It's not as though I lose anything from caring about you. I-”

“Other than your dignity.”

“Fine. Anything I really need. But just because you don't want to know any affection now doesn't mean you won't grow, won't change as time goes on, and then-! I'll not stop loving you, Will, not even if you ask nicely, because I will not allow you to be without love. Ever. Not ever. I will be loyal to you until you achieve forgiveness and leave my side, because that is something that's within my power to do, because nobody – nobody deserves not to be loved, Will. Not even you who believes that he could live on his lonesome forever.”

_This is pathetic,_ William decided, and wished that Grell didn't sound quite so sincere. He had sidled closer whilst spieling, and had regained something of his predatory aura. “Well, Grell, that is exactly why you are so very disliked by those you surround yourself with. You don't know when to _let go_.” This seemed the appropriate time to stand, dislodging Grell's creeping touch on his arm, and finish the glass before attempting to locate his wallet. “Maybe I should be flattered – maybe I should be grateful. But I'll tell you again, Grell, out of the goodness of my poor inebriated heart – you are wasting your time on me.”

“Time is something I have plenty of to spend freely as I wish,” Grell replied softly, and nodded in the ponderous manner of the drunk. “Do pay my tab on the way out, won't you? I'm afraid I may just sit here and wallow in my own despondency at this _highly_ unexpected rebuttal of my love for you. Goodness. Who saw this coming. Not me. Someone'll come to you tomorrow and say 'Where's Sutcliff?' and you'll say 'She- no you won't, you'll say _he_ 's at the pub, leaking liquor from his pores because rejection just hurts oh so much and he is only a weak soul who takes the easy way out'. Won't you?”

“Are you serious, Sutcliff?” William asked, more out of exasperation than curiosity. _Don't do it, Grell. Don't do it. Don't-_

“No. Have a good night, Will,” Grell replied, and ported out.

William paid Grell's tab alongside his own and left, trying not to welcome the feeling of obliteration that the approaching headache brought in place of Grell's illogical, inconsistent ideas. Grell had been through enough to make any sane man feel unbalanced – but he didn't seem to care. He seemed – as he always had – to genuinely believe that his lauded feelings of _love_ were more important than any inflicted pain or sense of self-preservation.

But then again Grell Sutcliff was mad, and had been long before Sneddon or androids or William himself had ever gone near his fragile mind.


End file.
